Ranger Rising: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 1 (Ranger Series)

by Salvador Mercer

  Two more arrows he loosed and both missed. The brigands were aware of him now and the element of surprise was lost, but his actions allowed for another surprise as Lady Salina stabbed one brigand with her slender short sword and Cedric hurled knives at another. Rocks continued to pelt the remaining brigands, but the last straw for three of them was when Agatha flung hot soup from the pot, hitting two brigands near Will squarely across their faces, and a third got an armful of the soup, which now had become a newly painful projectile. While the soup was not fatal, the pain was excruciating for them, and, with a yell, they started to run toward the brook, two of them practically blinded by the scalding liquid.

  Targon barely had time to react, however, as two brigands had left the main group and charged his position. Finally, another arrow hit one brigand square in the chest, stopping him in his tracks, but Targon was forced to drop his bow and pull out his axe. The other remaining brigand had a nasty sword, not as long as Will’s broadsword but with a longer reach than the axe Targon carried.

  Targon ducked the first swing as the lead brigand swung the sword hard, trying to cut poor Targon’s head from his shoulders. That is his first mistake, thought Targon as he rolled again on the stony dry rocks from the riverbed, and with a swing of his own, he caught the brigand in his left calf. The brigand howled in pain and brought the sword up and around in another swing, this time just scrapping some hair off of Targon’s head and drawing blood along his left scalp just above his ear. The motion of trying to wrench his axe free from the brigand’s leg had just about cost Targon his life, but he managed to stand, and, with a solid blow, hit the brigand in the middle of his head.

  The brigand toppled forward almost on top of Targon, and any idea of quickly pulling the axe free from its resting place was obviously impossible. Again, the act of losing his final weapon could have placed his life in jeopardy, but his actions were the last of the small battle. Targon saw Cedric’s last knife imbed itself in a fleeing brigand near the brook, and the last few brigands were soon out of sight, running. Their leader was dead, they were ambushed, and the refugees weren’t so docile, after all. They had lost the will to fight and had fled for their lives.

  “By all the gods of Agon am I happy to see you, lad!” Will declared, falling to a sitting position and letting his sword clang on the rocks as he released it and held his left arm, where it was bleeding, with his right.

  “Agatha, look after Will. I think he is hurt badly,” said Lady Salina as she looked around. “Cedric, are you hurt?” she focused on her son who had just retrieved several of his small knives he had just used.

  Shaking his head, Cedric answered, “I’m fine, Mother, just a little jumpy right now. How did they find us?” he looked around, wary that other brigands would be nearby and not really believing they had just won this unwinnable battle.

  “They followed your tracks,” said Targon. “I picked up their trail a few hours back, and they appeared to come from Korwell. Is everyone all right? Where is Marissa?”

  “Here I am,” called out Marissa as she appeared from the crevice and ran up to Targon, giving him a hug around his waist. “I knew you’d come back for us,” she beamed. Targon hated to admit it, but despite being older, Marissa reminded him very much of his sister, Ann.

  “Indeed,” said Targon with a return smile. “I’d never leave you to those ruffians,” he put his hand on top of her head, smiling at her gently.

  The two started back toward the crevice, stepping over the scene of carnage all around them. “Don’t look,” Targon told Marissa as he guided her back to the sanctuary of the others.

  An old lady, Celeste was her name, came out of the crevice then and informed the group a bolt had killed one of their own, another elderly man by the name of Sarson, who had stood in front of the woman and children to protect them.

  “Karz, come here, little one.” Lady Salina motioned for her smallest son, whom Targon remembered was on her lap the night before when they first met. Salina looked her son over for any signs of injury, and, satisfied that there were none, gave him a hug and wrapped a blanket Agatha had brought to her around him. “We need to get to safety,” she stated almost desperately. “This is no place for children.”

  “Or for the elderly,” Will said while Agatha returned to tending to him. Targon left Marissa to walk back into the crevice and assess the situation. Targon could see now that there were nine more people back there, three more children and six adults and most of the adults looked elderly. They reminded Targon of his grandparents, Luc and Julia, before they had died. The large blanket the group had used to shield the fire the night before was now lying on the ground, covering the brave man known as Sarson where he lay. The others sat almost in a state of paralysis along the far back wall of the crevice.

  Returning to the front and seeing Will’s bleeding had stopped under the ministrations of Agatha, he turned to face Lady Salina. “You’ll need to leave tonight: this area isn’t safe anymore,” he said as he watched Cedric walk from brigand corpse to brigand corpse, poking each one with a Kesh spear to either make sure they were dead or to actually help himself believe what had just happened wasn’t a dream.

  “We can’t travel at night,” she said, “and the sun will soon set.” In fact, as she spoke, dusk was arriving and the eastern skies were now a dark purple, that dark purple one sees just before the black and the stars arrive.

  Looking around and seeing a few looks of fear from Salina’s son Karz and Agatha, Targon thought for a moment and then made a decision. “I will guide you as far as the Rapid River,” he said, motioning to the east. “You’ll need to cross it where you can before it links up with the great Ulatha River to the south. Otherwise, I don’t think you’ll be able to cross the Ulatha River, and I am pretty sure the northern shores will be crawling with Kesh brigands like these. Can you walk, Will?”

  “I’ll manage, boy,” Will responded while starting to stand.

  “This is nonsense. He’s lost a lot of blood and is weak. I don’t think he can walk far, and I am not sure he can use his sword again,” Agatha said, not sure if she should try to stop Will from standing or if she should help him instead.

  Finally getting his feet under him, Will adjusted the makeshift sling for his arm Agatha had hastily made. “I’ll manage,” he said. “You did well, lad,” he said, stepping over to Targon and placing his good right hand on Targon’s shoulder. “I thought my fate was sealed back there in that damn crevice,” he stated, looking back at it.

  “Will, that was one of the most heroic things I’ve seen any man do,” said Salina, stepping towards Targon and Will, a smile evident on her face. “I don’t think we would have made it without the two of you,” she sheathed her small sword, embracing them both for a quick moment before looking back at her boys. “You have all our thanks.”

  Marissa had also come over to join them in the embrace, and just then, Agatha threw a bloody rag into the air. “Well, we don’t have all night to sit here and hug one another.”

  “Right you are, as usual, Agatha. Get the others ready to go in thirty minutes. Tell them to take only that which they can easily carry: food and blankets and no more,” Salina said, quickly looking around in the failing light.

  “Make it fifteen,” Targon said after Agatha as the elderly lady headed into the crevice, and Targon started to go from brigand to brigand, looking for any protruding arrows. He managed to find a couple that had missed their marks. One was buried in an old, dead tree branch that was hanging down from the bank near the crevice entrance, and he noted with some satisfaction that several brigands had died, and not only from his arrows. This group of refugees had some bite to them, or at least Will and Salina did, though he was sure Cedric and Agatha contributed, and he could only guess at which of the others had successfully hurled their rocks at the brigands.

  Once finished collecting his arrows and waiting for the others, Targon walked o
ver to Lady Salina and leaned over to whisper to her. “I didn’t know you could use a sword.”

  “More than just use, Master Targon,” she said, a smile crossing her face. “My husband is . . . well, was, captain of the king’s guard, and I am not one for just pleasantries of the court.”

  “I can see that now,” he said, leaning back and looking at her in a new light despite seeing her in a tattered cloak and dirty dress, with her small sword sheathed.

  Soon, the entire group was ready and assembled. Somehow, Agatha had seen to it that a small pile of rocks was placed over the body of Sarson in respect and honor for what he had done. The brigands they left, of course, but had searched and pillaged their bodies for any drink or foodstuffs or anything else of value, though it appeared most of the drink was wine and was discarded. Targon noticed with some amusement that both Cedric and the only other old man in the group, called Horace, both had crossbows slung over their backs and crossbow bolts tucked into their packs and belts. They look ridiculous, he thought, like two large porcupines with crossbow quills sticking out from every part of their torsos. Still, he decided to say nothing about it for the moment.

  “Here,” Will said with his good hand extended, handing Targon a sword with a black handle and snake heads coming from each end of the hilt. “It was the nicest Kesh blade I could find. It came from the rider you first shot.” Targon noticed two more swords tucked into Will’s pack on his back. Again, he didn’t understand why Will needed three swords, but if the man wanted to lug the blades, so be it.

  Targon took the sword, and it felt awkward. It would take him some time to get used to it, if at all. Targon took the blade and scabbard and latched it around his waist. He felt a bit clumsy with it on his left side as if it unbalanced him, but he was determined to learn how to wear it and eventually use it. “Thanks, Will,” he said, and then smiled at the soldier. Sergeant of the gate, indeed, he thought to himself. He earned that title today, for sure.

  “Let’s go,” Targon said as he led the loosely knit band of refugees south along the west bank of the running brook, forcing them to cross it first. He wanted every advantage, and putting the small brook between themselves and Korwell, from wince the brigands had come, seemed like a good place to start. The brook got larger and deeper the farther south they traveled, but quickly, it turned east. At one point along the bank where the ground was easy to navigate, he paused to count just how many Ulathans he was leading. Fifteen was his count when he counted Will Carvel bringing up the rear, oftentimes looking back behind him for any sign of pursuit. From one Marissa to fifteen Ulathans, not including himself. It was going to be a difficult night.

  The group walked slowly at first, but once they became accustomed to the night’s pale starlight, they picked up some speed and traveled for nearly three hours before Lady Salina asked for a break. Despite Will being a leader in the king’s guard and Targon’s obvious skill with the outdoors, the others looked to the lady for aid, support, and comfort.

  “The children are getting tired and some are hungry,” she said to Targon as they stopped briefly near a group of bushes not far from the small brook they were following. “Do we need to travel so far?”

  Targon looked around. Will favored his left arm, which was bandaged and bloody from the fight they had just survived, and most of the others simply had plopped onto the ground where they stopped and had their heads down, some on their chests. Dozing, most likely, he thought. Only Cedric still stood with his mother as Will moved to a large stone and used it for a stool to take a rest. “I’m afraid the few killers who did get away will raise the alarm, and from what I can tell, they will be actively searching for any Ulathans,” Targon said, motioning back along the way they had come. “I know this area well enough, and if we can strike out east a ways, we will soon come to the Rapid River and Blackthorn Forest, an area I know much better, and I have an idea where we can at least cover our tracks and hide.”

  “How long will it take?” Salina asked, pulling a small piece of cheese from a cloth she carried in her bag and offering a small piece to Karz, who was sitting beside her. “Everyone, grab something to eat while we are resting,” she said a bit louder as she turned to the others. Some started to grab foodstuffs from their bags and packs, but others just continued dozing as it was now close to midnight and they were not used to being awake at such a late hour.

  Targon thought for a second, refusing the cheese Lady Salina tried to offer him. “I think if we can manage another six hours, we can reach the river before sunup,” he said somewhat confidently.

  “That is a long time in the dark with four children and several older folk,” Salina responded, looking back at her group, a look of concern on her face.

  “Well, you don’t want them to face another group of brigands out here in the open, do you?” he asked.

  “No, I guess you’re right. Just keep your pace slow enough so we can follow you,” she said, determined to make this work.

  “Right,” was all Targon said in response. He knew now that while the group looked to Salina for leadership, she was now looking to him and not Will, nor anyone else, for her own support. It was a great responsibility, and Targon was determined to not let them down. His mother and sister would expect that of him and understand. Finally, after ten or fifteen minutes more, Salina started to prompt everyone to stand, and the group started off yet again, heading in an easterly direction near the brook, but not too close. It could just be heard to their right, but Targon didn’t want to be too close to it. The sand along the banks and dry parts of the riverbed left tracks that even a blind man could follow.

  After some time, Marissa came up to him from the middle of the group. Targon was leading, followed by Salina and then the group, and Will was bringing up the rear with Cedric. Will was instructing Cedric with a branch of leaves how to cover their tracks as best he could. “So, can we search for my family when we save the city folk?” she asked, a smile crossing her face despite the tiredness and trauma of the night’s events.

  “Well, yes, I think we can,” he said, pondering for a moment how best to address the new situation, “but don’t you think one of us should stay with the city folk and help them?” He nodded behind him and gave her a wink.

  Marissa quickly lost her smile, and a small pout came across her lips as she looked back at Targon, ignoring his wink. “You mean me, most likely, Sir Targon. Besides, you don’t even know what they look like,” she said, her tone serious now.

  “Then you can tell me their names and I will stop every lock cart I see and ask for them by name,” he responded, an equally serious look on his face to match hers.

  “Hmm,” she said, walking and pondering the offer. “Very well, Master Targon, you must ask for Mary Thorton, and my brother’s name is Marc, though I call him ‘Boo-boo’ because he’s always hurting himself.”

  “Marc, Mary, and you’re Marissa?” he said. “Don’t tell me, your father’s name is Mike?”

  “Not funny, Targon,” she said, dropping the formal title she had used before and now just referring to him by his common name. “His name was Alar, and he fought bravely, as brave as Sarson, and he gave me enough time to escape,” she said, a tear welling in her eye.

  “Right you are, Marissa,” Targon said, now fully understanding the loss she felt and in turn being reminded of his brother who most likely encountered the same fate as Marissa’s father and the old man Sarson. “How old is your brother?” he asked.

  “Six years old, and he has blond hair and a nasty scar above his right eye,” she said, motioning above her own right eye to where the scar would be located. “Fell from a tree, and a branch caught him and almost poked out his eye.”

  “Okay, I will look for Mary and Marc, then,” Targon said matter-of-factly, “and you will help the city folk stay safe in the meantime. Do we have a deal?”

  “Deal,” she said, a smile returning to her face. “Do
you have any more of those apples?”

  Targon reached into his pouch, feeling the last apple left. “Yes, I do. I have two more left. I’ll eat mine later,” he said, pulling his last apple from the pouch and handing it to her.

  Marissa ate as she walked and slowed her pace to return to the center of the group, leaving Targon alone up front. After another hour or so, he stopped and indicated a new direction from east to northeast, leaving the brook behind them. Targon knew the place he wanted to take them to. In fact, he thought of it himself when he first escaped but knew he had to free his family instead. On the east bank of the Rapid River, his grandfather had built a hunting blind near a place in the river where the water flowed and eddied into a calmer, slower running pool of water, and many animals, including the wild forest deer, would come to that pool to drink. The hunting blind was well hidden in some brush and trees but had good fields of vision for firing a bow, and while hidden well, it wasn’t very defendable if found, as it could easily be surrounded.

  After one more stop to rest and several hours later, Targon was relieved to hear the faint but distinctive sound of a large river course running, much louder than the brook they had left a few hours earlier. The main problem he had now was how to cross the quickly running, cold and deep river with a group of old and young refugees who were tired and weak from having walked most of the night. Soon, Targon cleared some brush and stood on the west bank of the Rapid River, and he could see the Blackthorn Forest coming right up to the river on the other side.

  “Impossible,” was all Lady Salina could utter.

  The rest of the group caught up, and finally Will and Cedric stood with them on the bank. “You intend for us to cross that!” Will asked while motioning with his good arm.

  “Yes,” Targon replied quickly, “but not here. If I have my bearings about me, then I came a bit too far south and we need to head upriver another mile or two where the river narrows but is faster running. There is a rocky bed where the river isn’t too deep, and we can ford it there.”